Thursday, November 30, 2006
1956
1956
What was it like? I can never know
The thrill of the new colliding with the old,
Of televisions, primly serenading
From a glowing wooden closet in a corner,
Of one channel's evening reign
Concluding with a nightly national anthem
Introduced by the strictly formally attired
As sitting rooms felt slippers leap to attention.
Newspapers were purely monochromed,
Respectful to the government of Eden,
Read by the deferential in waistcoats.
The species 'teenager' newly stalked the earth
Bemusing elders with their rock and roll
And crazy way-out fashions for the cool,
Sipping sodas in their chrome milk bars
All newly minted angst and rebellious sneers.
Evening meals were British fare, traditional
And unwaveringly stolid, cooked with lard:
Exotic foreign wares like Aubergines, Olives
And Pizza were not for our refined palates.
Leaving women to sew and mind the children
The men would choke the pub twice a week,
Lukewarm pints chewed in a thick smog
While welded into the uniform of their stations.
An Ealing sepia forelock-tugging day
Of simple people taking pleasures where they could.
Was it like this? I can never know. But now it has solidified to truth.
What was it like? I can never know
The thrill of the new colliding with the old,
Of televisions, primly serenading
From a glowing wooden closet in a corner,
Of one channel's evening reign
Concluding with a nightly national anthem
Introduced by the strictly formally attired
As sitting rooms felt slippers leap to attention.
Newspapers were purely monochromed,
Respectful to the government of Eden,
Read by the deferential in waistcoats.
The species 'teenager' newly stalked the earth
Bemusing elders with their rock and roll
And crazy way-out fashions for the cool,
Sipping sodas in their chrome milk bars
All newly minted angst and rebellious sneers.
Evening meals were British fare, traditional
And unwaveringly stolid, cooked with lard:
Exotic foreign wares like Aubergines, Olives
And Pizza were not for our refined palates.
Leaving women to sew and mind the children
The men would choke the pub twice a week,
Lukewarm pints chewed in a thick smog
While welded into the uniform of their stations.
An Ealing sepia forelock-tugging day
Of simple people taking pleasures where they could.
Was it like this? I can never know. But now it has solidified to truth.
# posted by Cobardon @ 6:32 AM 
